After this morning’s workout, I get down to the locker room and see a guy putting his clothes on right next to my locker. At this point, he’s got shirt and pants on and takes a moment to walk to the closest mirror to observe himself putting on his belt.
So I head straight for the shower, figuring he’ll be done by the time I’ve toweled off.
No such luck. Ten minutes later — I took my time — he’s still dicking around at his locker. Puts his tie on, goes to the mirror, ties it, makes sure it’s just right. Puts his jacket on, goes to the mirror, makes sure it’s just right. Starts messing around in the locker, then pulls out a fucking pocket square. Folds that just so. Puts it in his pocket, goes to the mirror, makes sure it’s just right.
Look, I don’t mind the guy being there. He’s two doors down and now that I’m no longer 12, I’ve got no qualms about undressing and dressing in front of another dude. But now that I’m 40, I need that stool he’s bogarting. I’m old. I need to sit down to put on my socks and shoes. What’s he doing with the stool? He’s got an array of lotions lined up on it.
Then he puts his coat on, goes to the mirror, makes sure it’s just right. Mind you, it’s is 90 damn degrees and humid down there. And how far is he walking, anyway? Then he gets his scarf, does that just so, goes back to the mirror and, finally, he’s done.
Maybe he’s got a big meeting today. He’s definitely single. Because straight or gay, a married dude isn’t dicking around in the locker room that long to pretty himself up–especially when it’s 17 degrees out and you’re just going to be hustling from the gym to your office a few blocks away.
KEN WHEATON 